


I Lost My Way. Twice.

by 94BottlesOfSnapple



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Thorin Has No Sense Of Direction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 19:16:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4717418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/94BottlesOfSnapple/pseuds/94BottlesOfSnapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A brief little flashfic about what might have happened the two times Thorin lost his way when trying to reach Bag End.</p>
<p>Because if a Dwarf gets lost in the Shire and there aren't any Hobbits to gossip about it, did he really get lost?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Lost My Way. Twice.

**Author's Note:**

> I just found this whilst searching through my documents, and it's cute so I thought I'd share. Especially since I'm still floundering a bit in the goblin caves.

The Halfling who opens the door looks as if she were about to faint dead away at the sight of him. It is only this that keeps him from stepping inside. The lass just stands there, speechless, eyes wide in her round face. It makes him uncomfortable, so he clears his throat.

“Is this Bag End?” he inquires gruffly.

The Hobbit shakes her head, curls bouncing, and then all but slams the door right in his face. The corners of Thorin’s mouth tighten, but his dark brows rise on his forehead. Despite the absence of the mark Gandalf had promised, the Dwarf king had been sure he’d followed the directions to the letter. He’s about to turn and walk away when the door cracks open again.

“You’ll want to go back down the lane and turn left instead of right. It’ll be at the top of the hill,” the Hobbit explains with only her round little nose peeking out into the night, and he’s not sure if he’s imagining the faint amusement underlining her brisk tone. “It’s rather hard to miss.”

Despite that, miss it he does.

The next wrong hole in the hill is inhabited by a couple with a parcel of little Halfling children rushing about their ankles, despite the lateness of the night.

“I don’t suppose,” he says dryly, settling into the equilibrium of his ridiculous situation, “that _this_ is Bag End?”

One of the Hobbitlings giggles, and Thorin heaves a sigh. Were he more inclined to embarrassment, his ears would surely be pinking, but it’s late and he’s tired and hungry and has no time for the frivolity of humiliation. Both of the parents look a little troubled, shooting each other meaningful glances, but at last the man removes his pipe from his lips and shakes his head.

“That’ll be two lanes up. Saw a crew of your kind head up there not an hour ago. You up to some devilry with Belladonna’s boy?”

Thorin ignores both the inquiry and the rudeness of a turn of phrase like ‘your kind’. He just gives the couple a curt nod and leaves. Despite counting what he’s sure was exactly two lanes, he spends twenty minutes milling about, stomping up and down different dirt paths full of round doors that all look the blasted same until finally one of them glows blue with a carved symbol, a Cirth ‘G’.

Finally. Thank Mahal.

Thorin strides to the door purposefully, hearing the raucous sounds of Dwarfish merrymaking inside, and disrupts it with a curt knock. Everything goes silent for three breaths before the round green door opens. The wizard himself appears to have opened it, stooped awkwardly in their host’s low-ceilinged home.

It is with no little wry amusement and – to be perfectly honest – sheer relief that Thorin ducks his head just slightly and peers upwards at Gandalf.

“Gandalf,” the Dwarf king greets, fighting a put-upon smile. “I thought you said this place would be easy to find.”


End file.
